Alea Iacta Est
by Miss Pookamonga
Summary: He was dying, but he'd never tell her that. WARNING: SPOILERS for "Trail of Blood."


_Dear Readers,_

_So, since the new Nikola episode just aired, of _course _I was bound to come up with something based off it. Something angsty. And here you have it!_

_I got this random idea after thinking about the episode after I watched it. What if this was the circumstance that made Niko keep giving Helen all those pained looks every time she yelled at him about the Source Blood? Of course it has to be semi-tragic; that's just how my brain works. And Nikola is just so prone to being self-deprecating in his head even if he seems arrogant on the outside. _

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy. _

_Best regards from a Tesla-obsessed Bookworm,_

_Miss Pookamonga ;-P_

_**PS:** The title literally means, "The die has been cast," in Latin. Meaning that whatever is to come is inevitable.  
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**Alea Iacta Est**_

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"**The die has been cast." **

**~Julius Caesar

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He was dying, but he'd never tell her that.

He'd never tell her that _this _was the main reason why he wanted that Blood.

He'd never tell her that he was terrified of death. Terrified of what would come after.

Because he knew he was doomed. Ever since he had been seven years old, he had known the truth of his fate. He had killed his brother, and he was going to pay for it for all eternity.

How could he make her understand the horror that plagued him, the crippling fear that pumped through his veins and drove him to what seemed like utter recklessness? She couldn't understand. No one could. No one could comprehend what it felt like to live each fraction of a moment anticipating the clench of shadowed jaws on one's soul. The Demon lay in wait, hovering over his every move, yet, like a fool, he still chose to run from that which he could never escape.

Death behind him, death before him, death within him.

She'd think he was insane. That he was concocting some grand lie to coerce her into pitying him.

But what man would feign fear of eternal damnation? Was not every person somewhat wary of the possibility of enduring the fiery consequences that lay beyond the grave?

Because his fear was certainly no lie. He consistently exhausted his whole being attempting to outlast Judgment Day, although he knew his daily efforts were in vain. No amount of blood could save him, nor could any serum, nor could the affection of the most beautiful woman on earth. Nothing could save him now, for he was stained with the Blackest of Marks and had no hope of ever being purged.

All he could do was run and keep running until the day when all his strength would be spent.

And then the Beast could devour him as it pleased.

But he wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to be swallowed up, to burn, to die, to be imprisoned in everlasting darkness. He needed more time. More time to run, more time to hide, more time to deny that the Reaper had threshed enough innocent fields and was now holding its scythe far too close to his fragile life-husk. If only he could buy himself more time, then he would have the chance to prepare himself for the inevitable punishment that awaited him…

But if a century and a half hadn't been enough time, then would any more time ever be enough? How long did he think he could keep this up? He no longer had the stamina he had possessed in his…_better _years. He could already feel the last century's worth of age creeping up on him, stiffening his bones and shortening his breaths. He was _withering. _He couldn't hold his head up for much longer.

Oh, how he wished he could tell her and make her understand. But she was still as a ripe blossom at the peak of spring, and would be so for eons to come. She would never understand. She _couldn't_. She didn't know his pain. She was an angel; he was a devil. She was destined for the heavens and he the Abyss. The Light of her soul blinded her to his Darkness, and his Darkness barred him from ever reaching her Light. They were separated by a rift that could not be bridged.

So who could blame him for withholding the truth? Either she wouldn't believe him, or the horror of the truth would all but extinguish her Light. And he would never _dare_ do such a thing to her. Better for her to remain wrapped in that glow and never know of his fate. He could never steal that from her—it was too precious. _She _was too precious for him to break her with the threat of his anguished future.

So he held his tongue and put on his mask, and stepped out to meet her as if there was nothing wrong.

Just as he always did.

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**FINIS**


End file.
